Neon
by 100 Silver Wings
Summary: Jinx is leaving Jump. For good, this time. Really. They mean it. COMPLETE.
1. Day One or Gravedigger

_Back in school. Crap. So, naturally, I'll be publishing an entirely new story, while I have yet another one in progress. I even confuse myself sometimes._

_Disclaimer: Just say no, kids._

**Day One**

**(or)**

**Gravedigger**

Last thing I remember eating was a peach. Not even a good peach neither. It was hard, hadn't had enough time to ripen, but I ate it, because I knew I wouldn't be able to eat again for a while. They tried to get me to eat here, at the holding cell, and I don't eat their food. Nothing _wrong _with their food, I just don't want to eat. That peach was a day ago, though, and I've been running all over the city ever since. I should eat, and that's what they say, so I don't, because I'm feeling stubborn. I'm also feeling starved.

I don't much get why they want me to eat. They don't even like me! Why're they so danged interested in how I feel, or my health, or things like that, if most of these guys want me on the metal chair with straps, if only to keep me out of their hair for a while until I got out. I could even get out of that lethal injection room, I bet. I'm the best thief, so I could get out. They haven't sentenced me there yet, because so far I'm only really annoying. The moment I kill somebody, though, they'll strap me down, and they'll stick me full of needles. That ain't happened yet. They're still sick of me. Sick.

When it's dark out, they take me to a van. Except it isn't very black, because you never know the night when you live in a city. I miss seeing nothing when the sun goes down. You don't get that in a city. Some day, we'll lose that. Stars will become a legend, the moon will give us its dark side.

They march me to the van. They say that they're taking me all the way up to North Dakota, to some special prison by the border. I blushed and asked them if they're really driving all the way for little old me? They scoffed. "Don't be flattered."

I've never been to North Dakota. Actually, and this is pretty sad and/or dumb, I've never been out of California. I never got to travel when I was a little kid because in our house, the floors were blue and spotless and nobody said a word unless it was a secret or a prayer or a lie. When the bank took the house, the streets took me, and when you're eleven years old and living in an irrigation ditch in the San Francisco suburbs, you don't travel much. In those days, a road trip was dodging traffic all the way to the grocery store and deciding what things I would buy if I had money. I never bought food, even if I had money. I scavenged instead. When I got money, or found it, or helped a fat wallet hanging out of somebody's back pocket fall, then I'd get pretty things, like earrings or Crayolas. I was a pretty stupid kid, in case you can't tell.

That whole not eating thing stuck to me, though. I don't eat too much. That's why I'm so scrawny. They call me scarecrow sometimes, or broomstick, or beanpole. I believe them every time. My wrists and hips poke out. I can count my ribs. When I feel really desperate, I count them to make sure they're all there. They always are. That's why I like my ribs; they never leave me. If I woke up one day without a rib, I think I'd really go crazy (not that I'm crazy now. I'm just eccentric. By law—and I've really researched this—I am one hundred percent sane.)

When they toss my weary carcass in the back of the van, there are three guards back there. Two more are in the front seat. And then there's Raven. They said a Titan would be accompanying me on my trip, as they would with Mammoth and Gizmo while they were being trucked off to their separate prisons. I'd been hoping it wouldn't be her. She really hates me. Really hates me, I mean. I bitch and moan about it while they check and recheck the clunky power-nullifying cuffs that they've snapped around my ankles, neck, and hands. These things are new; I've never had them before. It means that the good guys are getting smarter about these things, because before there was no point in imprisoning me. Bad luck rolls off of me in waves and it corrodes whatever is against me. In that scenario, prison walls and the guard's will to live. It's more dangerous to jail me than to let me run free.

I don't like hurting people. I will if I have to; any cornered animal will tell you that. I just won't enjoy it.

In the van, nobody talks. Like my old house, the one with blue floors. Maybe I could tell them about the blue floors to break the silence. "This house I grew up in, it had these blue floors, dig?" The guards put guns at me when I talk, so I stop. Raven doesn't move. She sits on her bench, unruffled, looking much different. She's wearing these black slacks and this peacoat, a navy blue one with big brass buttons that I can see my face in, and these short black gloves that look like something I'd buy. More likely something that I'd steal, really, because I almost never buy things. I buy music though; not online, because I don't trust computers with my music, but from stores. I go into music stores really late, with my face all covered up, and get my favorite albums, and then I give them a tip even. I only buy music. I stole a Bible once out of a church, for shits and giggles, but I buy my music.

Raven just sits there. She looks supreme, in a scary sort of way. It's obvious she doesn't want to be here, and that she doesn't like it. I can see it. If she likes where she is, then she's slightly more active. I know that because of the fights we're in. She likes those in a weird way. I think. I'm not a mind reader, like she might be. She seems to like those, though. Not this; she doesn't like this. I don't like it either, but I won't tell her that we agree. I don't want to be shown more guns.

The van rolls off. It rumbles a lot. There are no windows in the walls; just one barred one into the cab, should I suddenly become morbidly interested in looking at the buzz cut and the mullet who're driving the van. I see a bit of windshield beyond that, but not much. There's mostly just a bunch of bright lights.

I was a bright light, once. It was a really long time ago though. But when I was, I was the best. I was like a supernova. But that was when I was a bright light. And that is too long ago.

We travel for a really long time. The other guards start falling asleep and Buzz Cut and Mullet start grumbling about how they'd drink any coffee, like, literally, any coffee. I know what you mean, man, I dig. That's how they talk. They sound tired. Raven stays awake, and I can't tell if she's tired or not. If she is tired, she isn't going to sleep. I heard somewhere that demons don't actually need to sleep.

Hell. I'm tired too. Not enough food makes you tired like that, you know. Tired like you can't believe. I start humming to keep myself awake. Raven, unsurprisingly, does not react. She keeps staring at me. Buzz Cut and Mullet go on griping about coffee. One of the guards, who has the spiky black points of a tattoo poking up above his shirt's neckline, snorts and rolls his shoulders, but doesn't wake up. This makes me bolder. I get braver when I don't get caught. Some call it cocky. I call it me.

I start singing the song I was humming, but I don't really sing it, because I don't know if I can sing. I start talking the lyrics, because it's one of those songs that you can talk instead of sing. I look at Raven, because I think she'd like that song, if she likes music at all.

"Cyrus Jones," I start. She doesn't even twitch. Inhuman. "1810 to 1913. Made his great grandchildren believe you could live to a hundred and three,"

"Shuddup back there!" One of the cab guards, I think it's Buzz Cut, shouts back. I do, for the time being at least. If there's anybody in this cursed van I'll think of listening to, it wouldn't be those idiot guards, it would be Raven, because I respect her. Since she's not telling me to shut up, I won't stay shutted up. If she wanted me to stop, I doubt she'd say shut up anyhow, because she seems just a tad bit more regal than that. She seems like the kind of girl who has standards.

"A hundred and three is forever when you're just a little kid, so Cyrus Jones lived forever." I finish the first stanza in a whisper, but that's still too loud in this van. Just like that house; a whisper was too loud. Whispers got you hurt; sometimes hurt real bad, sometimes just enough to cry over.

"I said shuddup!" Buzz Cut snaps, more irate than before. "Chrissakes, guys! Wake up!" He yaps at the snoozing guards. The tattooed one snorts again, sits up, looks on in a very confused manner.

"Huh?" He slurs, still half asleep.

"She's starting to mouth off again, and you're sleeping. So wake up, and keep the bitch quiet." Buzz Cut demands.

"Hey!" I'm indignant. Being carted off to a prison thousands of miles away, fine, do that. But for all that is holy, refrain from calling me a bitch. I did not a thing to warrant that title. At least not from Buzz Cut.

"Shut it." The tattooed one nudges me with his booted foot. Briefly, I want to spit at him. He deserves it. But I don't, since I'm in way over my head here, and spitting at law enforcement never really works out no matter what situation you're in. Especially not here, I'm guessing. Not even I want to toe that line.

I stop singing then. The other guards back here are raising their heads, becoming aware of the peace being broken. Buzz Cut and Mullet mutter and curse. Raven stares at me, then closes her eyes for a very long time. The clock on the van's dashboard, which I can see if I really crane my neck, says she only has her eyes closed for a minute. A minute seems much longer if nobody's talking, and they're all not talking at me.

"Don't mind her," Raven sighs. "It was a nice song anyway,"

I gawk. The guards gawk. The laws of probability do a double take as well. Nobody defies her word, though, because even though the guards have guns and Buzz Cut is driving this van, she's in charge. Because some people can really do anything, and she's one of those people. You don't just defy a person who can do anything.

"Continue if you wish." She nods at me, very patiently.

"Nah…I'm, uh, done. I guess," I stammer, wishing my hands weren't enclosed in these clunky cuffs so I could wring the ever-loving hell out of my fingers. That's what I do when I get nervous. She nods, shifts her weight, and we don't talk again.

The guards start falling asleep once more. The van pulls over, so Mullet—who turns out to be a total meatloaf—can drive while Buzz Cut catches some z's. My eyelids start drooping. Raven stays immaculately conscious. Mullet rolls the window down and chilly air comes in. It's really refreshing, and makes Raven's hair flutter around. Mine does too, because I don't get to keep it in my favorite practical horns when I'm in places like this, so it's loose and thick and gets in the way, all the way to the small of my back. It makes my head feel real heavy.

The cold air does something. Raven leans her head back, against the metal grille covering the window into the cab. She looks very tired suddenly. Exhausted, even. This must be taxing on her too, I guess. Maybe demons do need sleep. So I take up the song again; I don't think anybody will care.

"Muriel Stonewall, 1903 to 1954, she lost both of her babies in the second great war," I tell her. Raven nods a little instead of looking at me. I curl up on the floor, too sleepy to care that it's hard and cold and generally uncomfortable. "Now you should never have to watch your only children lowered in the ground. I mean, you should never have to bury your own babies," I don't feel like continuing. The more you think about it, the sadder it gets.

"You have any happy songs?" Raven whispers while the sky starts to turn gray.

"No. I don't really believe in happy songs. At least not most of them," I explain, my cheek numb from being pressed against the floor. I mumble, but she still hears me, I know.

"How…" She doesn't finish. Her eyes close and she moans softly, relaxes. She doesn't look too scary when she's asleep.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite." I tell her, even though we neither have beds nor bugs with us—at least, none that I know about. Then I let myself drift off as well, and it isn't that bad honestly, because I spent my first eleven years sleeping on hard, cold floors in a silent places. It's just like home, and it's just like prison, because they're synonyms.


	2. Day Two or Funny Things

**Day Two**

**(or)**

**Funny Things**

"Fucking where's a McDonald's when yah need one?" Mullet grumbles. It's the first thing I hear when I wake up. Profanity. That's usually how I'd wake up when I was living with the boys. I'm no angel, obviously, but they had filthier mouths than I did. Which was pretty surprising. If I want to, I can curse the ears off of a stalk of corn. Only if I want to, though.

"Shuddup," That's all Buzz Cut can say, I'm guessing. "Here's a café,"

"A café? Those things take for-fucking-ever! We have a schedule, for fuck's sake,"

If Buzz Cut can only say 'shuddup', then Mullet can only say 'fuck' or some variation thereof. He's one of those senseless cursers, just spouting out bad words for the sake of spouting out bad words. Those people annoy me. I usually end up punching them if we're in a room together for too long of a time. I've associated idiot swearers with broken noses and bloody knuckles. I can't punch Mullet though. That makes me pretty sad. Punching idiots has always made me feel good.

We're inNevadaby now, I'm pretty sure. All that driving must have gotten us toNevadaat least. I think that we'll just cut across diagonally, going through the very tip ofUtahandIdaho, then all ofWyoming. They say it shouldn't take a week, even if we do stop and stay in a hotel once or twice so people can take showers. I could use a shower, I really could. I haven't showered for longer than I haven't eaten.

The van stops, probably in a parking lot. They open the back doors, keeping their guns on me. They ask if I want anything and I shake my head. I'm starving, really. My stomach feels tight and hollow, but for some reason I refuse food. Eating doesn't sound very good right now. Everybody leaves except for one of the guards, one with a scar on his neck and nicotine stained fingers. "Stay here and watch her, Rib. Got it?" Buzz Cut tells the guard, who I am guessing is Rib.

The two of us, Rib and I, we sit in the back of the van, the front windows down but all the doors closed. It's starting to get hot, even though it's barely spring. I'm told that there are places to the North that stay cold except for a month and a half of the summer, if lucky. I can't imagine that. My world is very hot, even in the middle of January.

"You know, Rib, this is my first time outta the state," I try to strike up conversation. Rib drums his fingers on his gun, glaring at me. But he doesn't talk, so I continue. "I never traveled very much. Really, I didn' plenty of places to rob, yah know? So I never really felt the need to leave,"

"Don't start talking again," Rib growls. He points the gun at me, very nonchalantly. I take his advice.

The others return soon, arms laden with Styrofoam boxes of food. They give Rib one of the boxes and they all go up front to lean on the hood of the van, chatting with their mouths full. Raven stays back with pitiful little me. She sits on her bench, back straight as a flagpole. On her lap is her box, which if my nose does not deceive me, is full of waffles. She eats very, very slowly.

Those waffles sure look good, even if she doesn't have any syrup on them for some God-awful reason. Waffles without syrup? Who does she think she is? I'd eat them anyways, you know. I'm just that hungry. What I mean is, I eat anything if I get hungry enough. I've eaten the donkey shit that Mammoth calls his cooking, and I've eaten things that made me throw up for minutes on end. Plain waffles don't make you puke.

I don't eat though.

"Hey, we're just pulling forwards a few blocks to a gas station. Quick fill up, bathroom breaks, and then we're on the road, okay?" The guard with the tattoos poking up above his shirt's neckline tells us, jumping into the back of the van. The other two guards come in after him, with Buzz Cut and Mullet shambling into the front seat. The van starts up, and we're off, only to stop a minute later.

"Okay, who needs to piss?" Rib asks, standing up. Everybody stands up along with him, nodding their heads. The tattooed guard is obviously trying very hard not to do the awkward potty dance, inconspicuously crossing his knees.

"Uh, me too," I pipe up. Without looking at me, Raven grabs me by my upper arm and marches me out of the van. I haven't stood up on my own for so long that my feet stumble over themselves as she drags me across the heated parking lot, a few paces behind the rest of the guards. The cuffs around my ankles don't make things any easier.

The bathroom is outside, more of an evolved port-a-potty than an actual bathroom. It's a little box of a room pretty much stapled to the back of the gas station. There's one window on its wall, but it's been broken and boarded up with a slab of plywood that's got Andre the Giant's face graffitied on it. Tattooed Guard rushes in first, the door slamming behind him. The rest of us wait outside, showcasing various levels of impatience. All except for Raven; she showcases nothing, as per usual.

When it's just the two of us left, she shoulders me forward, making me ram into the door. "Go. And don't try anything funny; I'll be monitoring your thoughts," Raven intones. I gulp nervously, holding my cuffed hands up in pathetic desperation. The cuffs are designed as nothing more than big, metal bubbles around my hands, so as if being incapable of using my powers wasn't enough, I can't use my hands either. Which, if I actually had to go to the bathroom, would be a problem. But I'm too dehydrated for that.

"You're a smart girl; I'm in utmost faith that you can find a way to deal," Raven says. Grumbling, I lope into the bathroom and she closes the door behind me. There's a bunch of stupid flies and moths hitting their heads against the ceiling, and it stinks like something a might awful, but I've smelled worse. When you live with a pack of teenage boys, you've always smelled something worse.

I lean against the wall, listening to my empty stomach grumble and the bugs trying to escape. "Shit…" I breathe out slowly, then again for good measure. "Shit…" The bugs don't seem to mind much. For a moment, I think I might cry, or hit something, since that's usually how I deal with things. I don't today, though. I just lean against a rancid bathroom wall inNorthern Nevadaand feel miserable. Finally I nudge the door open. Raven's still standing there, in her peacoat in the full fury of the desert sun, not noticing the heat and not sweating in the least, tapping her foot with her arms folded across her chest. Maybe being a demon gives you really nifty heat tolerance. It must, if you live in a place like Hell. I wonder if she's ever seen Hell? I probably shouldn't ask her that, at least not now. It'd kind of be like Frenching on the first date.

I step out of the bathroom and spontaneously decide to do something spontaneous. That's how I live my life, really, which is good, because it gives nobody any preparations to counter me. The bad part is that since I never think these sorts of things out, they're usually doomed to fail before they start.

I jump behind Raven and loop my cuffs around her throat, shoving my knee into the small of her back. Without missing a beat, she whirls around and pushes me into the wall, ducking out of my arms. I'm not quite sure what I was trying to accomplish by that, really. That was dumb, even for me. And, believe me, I do a lot of dumb things.

She glares at me, daring me more than threatening me. I look at the ground, all too aware of the uncomfortable weight of her hand at the base of my throat. I can feel her energy through the touch. So much energy. I mean, you can't imagine. You really just can't.

"Don't try that again," she warns. Her voice is very relaxed and very dangerous all at once. That's a voice that I shouldn't disobey, and I feel squirmy for doing so. I nod my head and she lets me go to stumble along a few steps before looking back at her. There are slight red marks on her otherwise pale neck from where my cuffs caught her. She doesn't seem to mind.

We walk back around the front of the building like nothing happened. That's an old survival tactic of mine, actually; pretend nothing happened. It keeps me from feeling guilty, even if I still do.

"If I got a candy bar from the gas station, would you eat it?" Raven asks, prodding me along. I shake my head. "What about a soda? Or water?"

"Yeah. I'd take some water." I say quietly. She walks me over to the van, then turns back to the gas station.

"Where's she goin'?" Rib mutters.

"She said she's getting me some water," I tell him. He grunts and rolls his eyes. He probably doesn't believe somebody like me deserves such niceties, especially if I denied breakfast.

Raven returns with a bottle of water and a pack of sunflower seeds. She pockets the seeds, holds the bottle out to me. Sheepishly, I wave my confined hands in front of my face; I can't hold a thing in this state.

Her next expression is probably the facial translation of the word 'blasting shit trumpets, what'd I just get myself into?' Or something of the like. I'm not good at translating looks to words. You get the gist, right? Raven isn't happy.

Slowly, she unscrews the cap from the bottle and holds it out to me, right under my nose. Rib, the tattooed guard, and the third guard who is wholly unremarkable all awkwardly turn their heads away while I drink like a parched buffalo, water frequently spilling all over my face and neck. Raven stiffly holds the bottle, scowling deeply. I pull back, lick my lips.

"Don't pout, sunshine; it'll give yah wrinkles." I warn her. She jerks the bottle back and twists the cap on, shuts the van's back doors.

"We're ready to go." Rib shouts up, and Buzz Cut pulls us out of the parking lot. I look at the floor, and my heavy feet bouncing on the floor, while painfully not looking at anybody else. I don't think I'll be singing much now.

Where're Mammoth and Gizmo? That's what I wonder. Where'd they take my brothers? Well, not biological brothers, not really, but the only thing that doesn't connect us is genes. They're my family, the only family that never lived in the blue house. I actually told those two morons about the house once, and only once. I remember Gizmo looking disturbed and Mammoth's hand on my shoulder. He could fit his entire hand around my shoulder, and he still treated me like the boss. 'Cause I was the boss, that's why.

I told them about the house when it was winter. We were hiding out in a tiny old room of a house, the kind you can shoot through the front door and the bullet will come out the back door. The sort that Elvis was born in. Yeah. That kind. It was raining, and even though it was the afternoon, it felt like night. Dark clouds and all, you know? And all those shadows, the shadows from the storm and even our own shadows, they made all the floors blue. I didn't want to, but I just had to tell them. I'd never told anybody before about that house. Well, actually, I had, but not really; it was like when I told the guards and Raven earlier: "This house I grew up in, it had these blue floors…" People never listen, or they don't want to listen, but they do. I can't continue after they don't care. It hurts too much to even talk about those blue floors, and when they won't listen…that is, honest to God and Allah and Buddha, the only time I want to kill myself. Then something happens, though, and I remember I should live, so I do. The thought still lingers, though.

So I told them, when it was winter and storming, in the house with pseudo-blue floors. At first, they listened just because they always had to listen to me, but after I started telling about my father or my mother or the strange men and women with yellow eyes who had lost the ability to sleep, they were really listening. I think we could all hear my heart breaking in that room, in that house. That night, we slept all curled up in a ball around each other, like puppies. I remember that there were hugs. Lots of hugs. That night really hurt. I never cried though. I think. I tend to forget things that hurt.

I want those two tin-heads back. Things were nice before we got taken apart. Not terribly nice, mind you, because we were doing immoral and illegal things for a living, but we were happy as we could get. We argued or we fought, or we even ran away from each other, but then we'd get worried that somebody was dead or something and we got back together. That's how we were, back when we were together.

I bet everybody here knows where they are. I can't ask them where, and if I did, they wouldn't tell me. Obviously. I just miss my brothers, is all.

Quietly, I groan and slide into a ball. Everybody immediately looks at me, except for Raven, because she's been looking at me this whole time.

"The fuck's her problem now?" Mullet grumbles from the front seat. God. I could really strangle that man. I mean, I really could. Just grab his thick neck and not let go until he stops moving. I think that I'd do that. Maybe I'd like it, too.

"Dunno." Rib grunts, scratching at his scar. I close my eyes and I see a house full of blue floors. Blue floors forever. And not a sound to be heard.

I fall asleep, somehow. Guess I didn't really get much sleep last night. Guess things like that make me tired. Even in my dreams, my stomach keeps on hurting. I don't feel too good. I should eat. Probably. I might get sick otherwise. If I get sick before we get to the prison, then they'd have to take me to a hospital. Once I'm out of this van, I could get away, I'm sure of it. Especially if I was in a hospital. Hospitals are so easy to rob that they can't be much trouble sneaking out of.

Some time later and I wake up. The sky is dark again, like you can't get it in the city. This is real darkness. Country dark. A bright something tints the dark with red and yellow. Turns out, it's a McDonald's, not Kid Flash. My mistake. Sorry.

Mullet must be happy. That's what I think when I notice that Raven's the only one in the van. Her purple eyes are wide, wide open. So close, too. So close to me.

"Um…" I rasp like my voice does whenever I don't talk for a long time. I try to clear my throat, but it only works halfway.

"You do need to eat something," she snips. Her breath touches my face, a very faint thing that smells like spring. "You're no use to anybody if you're starved to death. We don't want you passing out on us,"

I look at her, confused. She doesn't like this and hoists me up to my feet. There I teeter for a moment, realizing how important food is should I want to stand for any amount of time on my own.

Suddenly, she isn't behind me anymore, but in front of me, even closer than before, holding me up with her fist bunch in my shirt. The lights from the McDonald's reflect on her dark eyes. Little ink dribbles of red and yellow fall down her cheeks and nose, a red one falling down the center of her lips, spliced by the metal grille between us and the front seats. I see why so many people fear her.

"Listen, I'll negotiate with you. Will you eat something if I take the cuffs off to let you do so?" She proposes.

"Shit. Fine. _Fine_. I'll eat, if it'll make you so happy. Fine," I grumble. The doors behind us open and she leads me out, one cold hand on my arm. It could be because of her heritage; maybe demons have a lower internal temperature than a human being. Or she could just have poor circulation.

In the McDonald's, I see the rest of our posse at the back of the restaurant, talking and laughing over several oily wrappers and frosty soda cups. Calmly, she walks me up to the front counter, where a very sleep deprived young man is slumped. He does a double take at us; one looking regal and lethal, one looking battered and probably ghost pale in these drab white clothes they shoved on me. His eyes linger on my cuffs, or my eyes, or all of me.

"Do not ask questions," Raven advises. The boy nods. She elbows me, probably expecting me to order. Hah. I've never been in a McDonald's besides to rob one or two.

"Um. Ah. Some…uh…fries, please. French fries," I say, my voice still very raspy. "And water." The boys nods some more, then scuttles off. Raven fishes a little clutch purse out of her peacoat and places a five dollar bill down on the counter. The boy returns, handing the day-old fries over besides a cardboard cup of water.

"Keep the change," Raven says, leading me off to a table by the door, carrying the food. She nudges me into a seat, then slips into the one across from it. I look at the nasty fries, wishing that they were something else, like oatmeal or pomegranates or mint julep. I'd rather eat any of those right now.

Raven takes my hands, or the metal cuffs around my hands, and suddenly they clank open. I don't see how she does it; too busy fantasizing about having desirable food to see anything important. Fresh air feels funny on my hands. It feels good too. I wiggle my fingers experimentally; they seem to operate adequately. I try one fry, and even that seems like too much. Damn. My stomach must be the size of a crab apple at this point. But I eat another one to please Raven. She watches me incessantly.

"You know," I try conversation, feeling doomed at the start, "hysteria translates into Latin, literally, as 'wandering uterus'. You know that?"

"Fascinating," Raven says in a way that makes it obviously she thinks my fact is anything but.

"Well then," I say a little frumpily, peeved that she effortlessly slaughters my sad attempt at conversation, "what do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing." She states, lowering her chin into her hands and looking out the window. Eating my third fry and subsequently feeling like I might throw up, I look at her looking out the window. She's more interesting than a window, I think.

I struggle through the bag of French fries and half of the water. By the end my mouth feels slick and gritty from all the carcinogens lodged into those things. This is why I don't go to fast food places. They make me sick, sort of. The most important thing, though, is that I ate all of the fries. Every last one. I think Raven approves. She doesn't look as disinterested as before; now she looks mild.

"We're headed back out now," Mullet yells over to us. I flinch. Raven coolly glances at him, then gets up, her eyes back on me. Mullet, along with the rest of the guards, are obviously having a hard time refraining from pulling their hair out about the prisoner being uncuffed. They don't dare challenge what Raven does.

"It's nice that he didn't swear, right?" I offer. She shrugs, pulling me up and slapping the cuffs back on my hands, scooping up the trash and tossing it. With her hand on the small of my back, just barely touching, she takes me out of the McDonald's, after the rest of the guards. They look back every so often, say nothing to us, murmur to each other.

When they get to the van, but we're still out in the chilly night, Raven murmurs to me, "I can hear every word they're saying,"

"Do they hate me?" I murmur back. Her fingers tangle into the split ends of my hair, knot into my shirt, and her strangely sharp nails dig into my back. Then she lets go.

"They hate one of us."


	3. Day Three or Me and the Moon

_This chapter and the next one are going to be shorter than the first two, in case you're interested. _

**Day Three**

**(or)**

**Me and the Moon**

Buzz Cut is driving. He says we can stay in a hotel tonight, since everybody's gone two nights without showers or beds. Nobody believes him until we hit a town and Raven suggests we pull into that hotel, right there. Give it a try. What she says goes, and everybody wants to sleep on a mattress finally, so Buzz Cut swerves us into the parking lot. It's almost eleven at night.

We all wait in the van, not talking, while Buzz Cut goes into the front office. He returns a few minutes later with some keys, drives us around the building.

"I got us three rooms, all with two beds in them. John and I will take one room, and the rest of you get to fight for the other two. One room will have to have three people in it. And whoever gets Jinx: keep an eye on her. Please. For all of our sakes." Buzz Cut says before promptly abandoning the rest of us along with Mullet, or John, I guess. They shamble into the dully lit hotel, Buzz Cut swinging the keys around on his finger. He left two other keys on the dashboard.

"Uh, I guess the guys and I will take one room, to give you girls some privacy." Rib says. Even he is nervous under Raven's accusing stare. I can feel how unhappy she is about this arrangement. But she lets the three remaining guards slink out of the van, one key in the tattooed one's palm, all of them scrambling to see the room number printed on it. They are eager to get away from us.

"Privacy, my ass." I grumble around my dry tongue as Raven nudges me none-to-gently out of the van, the remaining key in her hand. She doesn't talk, just leaves a trail behind her that states boldly that I had damn better follow her, or else I can stay out here in the parking lot and freeze my tail off. I guess she really doesn't care one way or the other about me. The only reason she's here is to keep me from running off again. She only cares enough to keep me out of trouble.

And, this is another sad thing, that's a lot more than most people offer.

The hotel walls are plaster, the floor that very bland, generic color that I can never really figure out what color it is. I mean, it could be brown, or teal, or dark red, or green. Nobody knows. The place smells like laundry detergent and sick animals.

We pass a lady with an eye patch leaning against the wall. She keeps saying "Fuck pants, man, fuck pants. Don't need them sons of bitches. Fuck pants." Over and over. She's like the people I find in the psychiatric wards. Catatonic. She's here to hurt herself, I'm guessing. We don't give her a second glance as we walk on by her, on the way to our room. Her chant echoes down the hall after us. We turn a corner, both of us holding our breath, because we both know what's going to happen, and then it does happen, and we can breathe. Just a gunshot. That's all it takes. Just a gunshot.

Raven unlocks the room, gets me inside, closes it behind us. It's dark in there and getting colder. Two starched, stiff beds tossed parallel to each other, a television that at first glance looks decent but I know should we turn it on—which we won't—it'll be absolute crap. The lamps are dim and wavering, the curtains are gold-and-olive paisley, you know the type I'm talking about. We have a tiny little bathroom and a big window for a nice view of our parking lot, swarmed by dusty cars and drunks and the homeless. I can hear the highway off in the distance and the faded cries of whoever just found the lady in the hallway. I grit my teeth just thinking about that fool.

Thoughtlessly, Raven bends down and unlocks the cuffs on my ankles, works her way up to my hands and then my neck. She doesn't give me a verbal warning about her actions, but it's still clear: even without these cuffs, I'd be a moron to try to escape. She'd find me effortlessly, and all I would have accomplished from that hypothetical venture would be submerging myself into an even deeper level of Hell.

Raven turns away from me, not acknowledging me, and waltzes into the bathroom, the door shutting behind her. A second later, the shower turns on. I flop onto the bed, wishing I could just bust out of this dump. I mean, if I was with anybody else, I would be out of here the moment they turned their back. With Raven…I'm sorry, but as I've stated before, you just don't mess with somebody who can do anything. I could easily open the window and slip out, and Raven probably wouldn't know until she got out of the shower, and by that time I could be on the highway in a stolen car. I really could, you know. She'd be on me like a hungry dog on a bone, though, and I don't want to think of the things she could do to me when she caught me. She wouldn't really do much, though, but just the prospect of those horrors amongst horrors she's capable of is enough to keep me in this stinking hotel room, police swarming down the hall over the body of some crazy woman, miles and miles from home and from my brothers. Oh God, my brothers. Where are they?

"Hey…uh, Raven?" I knock on the door. I can feel her scowling.

"What?" She demands. I can barely hear her voice over the water and through the door, but I can still hear her answer, and that's plenty enough for me.

"Do you…uh, you know where my br—uh, where Mammoth and Gizmo are?"

"Yes." She says it like she thinks that ends it. And if I was a sane person, I would take that as The End of this conversation. Finished. Done. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that jazz. Since when do I do smart people things like that?

"Where are they?" I press.

She doesn't say anything for a very long time. I lean my head against the door, eyes closed. When the water shuts off, I slump back onto the bed. She comes out a time later, fully dressed, the only sign that she was ever in the shower being that her hair is tousled and damp. Calmly, she walks over to her bed and lays down on it. "I can't tell you exact locations, obviously,"

I sigh deeply, and she rolls over to face me. She looks hesitant and not that happy about what she's about to say. "But…well, Mammoth's a far ways off, and Gizmo isn't even in theAmericas."

That right there stops me cold. If I knew that my brothers were both in the states, or evenCanadaorMexico, I could breath easy. Mammoth's a mere 'far ways off'. That's okay. I can deal with a 'far ways off'. But Gizmo…not only are we not on the same continent, but a whole different land mass? An ocean away? An ocean, a land mass, a continent, languages and cultures and currencies and miles and miles away is too much for me, alright? Alright? I take too much as it is, and I deal with all these bad things, and then to learn that my brothers are gone, that if I have any hope of winning them back, it'll be an inconceivably hard fight to even learn their exact locations, now that is too far. That's my breaking point.

"Oh," I exhale in a very small manner. Raven keeps looking sad, like she is genuinely sorry for me. "Oh." I stumble up and stumble into the still steamy bathroom and stumble out of my clothes, into the shower, stumble my slightly atrophied hands over the knobs for hot, hot water. I stand in that hot water for a moment, before peeking out and hoping I remembered to close and lock the door. I did.

Then, I start crying. Not that timid sort of crying either, when you hunch your shoulders and put a hand over your mouth. Nope. Not me. When I cry, I just have at it. I sound like a goddamn banshee, and don't particularly care who hears, be it Raven or the guards or the police in the halls, or even what's left of that crazy woman.

I don't really figure how long I cry, but eventually there's a knock on the door. Not the bathroom door, but the room door. I immediately shut myself up, because I can just feel that it's the guards and they don't get to know that I cry. Maybe I really do care who can hear me. Maybe only Raven gets to hear me break.

She opens the room door and talks to whoever is there. It sounds like Buzz Cut, but I can't be sure. I can't be sure what exactly they talk about, but they talk about it a while. Or more of, Buzz Cut awkwardly stilts through conversation while Raven undoubtedly looks at him in that way of hers that isn't technically a glare, but _Jesus_, not just a look should make your spine freeze solid! Finally Buzz Cut leaves, and the door closes.

This whole time, I've been curled up on the bottom of the shower, hot water plunking on my matted hair. I shiver, even if it's tropical in here, and I twist my toes and fingers like a maniac. I bite my lip to stave off the crying, and I lean back with a ragged moan when the door shuts and Buzz Cut leaves and only Raven and I are left.

There's another knock on the door. Not the room door, but my door, my bathroom door. It's her. I can hear her reluctance, then she ever-so-softly says my name. Just once, just loud enough to be heard through a door and through the water. "Jinx."

That is the first time she's ever said my name. And it sets me off again, slow and quiet at first, a loping string of jerky sobs, then raises an ugly head into such a God-awful cacophony that she leaves the door, knowing I won't be able to talk for a long while.

I cry until I get too tired to carry on. It's horribly to cry until the only thing stopping you from continuing is that fact that your stomach and ribs ache and your chest feels deep as space. I struggle out of the shower, slamming the water off, throw on my plain white prison clothes without drying off. I leave the bathroom with red eyes and my clothes already partially soaked from my dripping mop of hair.

Raven's lying on top of the blankets of her bed, immaculately untouched. Her back is to me, straight as a board, but somehow asleep. The only sound left are the drunks and drifters in the parking lot and, much louder, Raven's breathing. I flop onto the empty bed, my face in the pillow, and I can't stop from the soft little tremors from returning. Of course, the little tremors lead to little whimpers, then to twisting my hands up in the sheets and mashing my face into the pillow.

And I swear I don't mean to and I swear I can't stop it, but eventually the little sobs creep back up on me and they just won't leave. This time around, though, I don't even want Raven to hear.


	4. Night Three or Logic and Proportion

_Sorry this one took so long. I kept rewriting the chapter, then changing things, and now I'm settling with the original. I'm not so sure about how much I like this one, it sounded so much better in my head...as most things do. And, just so you know, the next chapter will be the last, and definitely longer than this one. So hang in there with me, okay?_

**Night Three**

**(or)**

**Logic and Proportion **

I really don't understand things like myself. I mean…I mean…God. I don't really know, alright? The things that have happened, I should have a borderline personality, or at least be, to some degree, dissociative. I'm not. Borderline personality and dissociative identity grow out of a natural coping method: blocking the hurtful things out so you don't have to deal with them. And I guess I never did that. I didn't let myself get away, and as punishment, I'm totally sane, and I can never leave these things. I won't let myself go, and I really want to.

The manipulative, hypersexual, narcissistic world of borderline is more inviting than this. Or the shattered, confusing, blackout of dissociative. That's better. That's all better. If I was there, then I wouldn't have to be here, in this awful hotel out of Sartre's imagination, silently crying into a starched pillow. As I've said before, I was a dumbass kid, and because of that I can clearly remember the things that happened in the house with blue floors, or in the San Fran suburbs irrigation ditch, or in the H.I.V.E after Brother Blood took over.

I go through the night jumping between lucidity and semi-consciousness, all the while aware of the crying. Eventually, I'm aware of sheets moving and somebody sits next to me. Raven. Shit. I woke her up. Now she'll really know how big of a mess I am, even more of a mess than what I was in the shower. I never turn over to look at her, feeling worse than dirt.

Her cold little hands touch down on my shoulder. I shiver and cringe and groan. Slowly, she pulls me up so I'm sitting. I keep my head hanging, my hair serving as a protective curtain between us. I'm suddenly pretty glad that they didn't let me wear my horns; no matter how awesome they look, they aren't protective. Maybe I'll wear it down more often, just in case.

Raven doesn't say a thing. Slowly, painfully slowly, she pulls me into a hug. I can see her arms around my waist in the dim light from the parking lot, and I can feel her head on my shoulder. I curl up there, and then my mouth opens and I just start talking. Talking and talking, a mile a minute, to the moon and back in a heartbeat. I can't stop it either. That's what really kills me. I can't stop.

"I…I grew up in a house with blue floors, alright? These blue floors…and it was always sounding like police sirens or gunshots or screaming. Or they'd turn and look at me with these awful eyes, just blank, you know? Like they were mask eyes. And when I was six, I walked in and saw Maeve in the bathroom, on the floor, with razors in her hand and blood all over and she wasn't moving. I left her there because it was just too awful and she was just too thin. I mean, you guys say I'm scrawny, but you haven't seen scrawny until you see Maeve…" Just like that. Everything I can remember about that house. "There would be white powder in his moustache, and she'd put the needles between her toes so her arms stayed pretty, or Uncle would get carted off to the psychiatric ICU and he'd escape through the roof. That sort of thing. So then when they took the house away because nobody had any money left and they'd found the drugs in the floorboards, I ran away, and…and they didn't even follow me. They just really, really didn't care."

Raven doesn't say a thing the whole time. In fact, the most she does is take my hand in both of hers and hold it very carefully, like it was a glass egg, or a crown jewel. Like I was just a fragile person. I guess, at the time, I kind of was too.

I keep blabbering about that house with the blue floors, and she keeps listening. After a while, I talk my throat dry, but I keep at it, telling her about my early escapades in a raspy, thin voice. And then I start falling asleep. Once that happens…well, I'll be honest; that's when things got funky.

So it kind of went like this: I'd be yapping along about the foul closets or why you never went in Mauricio's room on Wednesday, and then I'd just doze off because I was so tired. I kept talking, though, even when I was asleep. Not really asleep, actually, more of I have my eyes closed and I couldn't move my body, but I could still hear my pitiful voice and I could still feel Raven there around me. The next time I'd open my eyes, I would never be sure if I was really awake or just dreaming. Or sometimes, with my eyes shut, I'd start seeing these things in my heads, like this huge clownfish twisting around with all the colors changing. It just twisted and twisted, and suddenly it wasn't a clownfish anymore. Then Raven would say something, right up close to my ear, and the clownfish would leave and I'd open my eyes, only to find the clownfish twisting on the ceiling, or in her eyes.

That clownfish. It stayed there all night long.

"Yah know, clownfish can change their sex," I told her. She made this noise in her throat, some sort of quiet acknowledgment. "And elephants are the only animal that can die of heartbreak,"

"You've obviously never met a human being, then." She whispers back, out of that same deep part of her throat. I curl up tighter, close my eyes.

When the clownfish comes back, her words come with it. Over and over again. Or maybe it's just the lyrics to White Rabbit, because suddenly they start sounding a lot alike. White Rabbit brings an image of Dr. Gonzo in the bathtub, and those damn cantaloupes. Huh. The clownfish is juggling the cantaloupes now. And everybody's saying her words with abalone teeth.

I sit straight up, my eyes open, and the clownfish and cantaloupes have taken off on the Jefferson Airplane. I launch the two of us off the bed and onto the floor, pinning her down with my hands knotted up in her shirt.

For the first time ever, I see her face light up with surprise. She's surprised, and she's really showing it. That makes me smile.

"Listen," I tell her, and I'm sure I sound most deranged by this point, "that blue floor? Yeah. I can deal with that stuff. And the irrigation ditch. That's pie. And what I just can't do, though, you listen? I can't be away from my brothers. That is just…" I look around for an adjective to make her realize how horrible this really is. But she gets the idea, and I fall silent.

"Jinx, calm down. I understand that you're very stressed out about your brothers, and I understand that—" She starts talking, but her using the word 'understand' rubs me the wrong way. Because she is being the condescending good-guy, and after that initial flash of surprise, she's shown nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

I deck her, right in the kisser. I've never actually hit her before, and she's never actually hit me. We always fight, sure, but we're too quick for one another; the only way we ever get damage in is by our powers. In fact, this trip is the first time I've ever touched her, probably.

It shocks her, obviously. She looks up at me, mildly curious, dabbing her fingertips along her jaw where I hit her, makes that noise in her throat again. She thinks I'm done, though. I'm not done.

"Don't talk about them like that," I warn, "demons don't know what family means."

That does it. I have to smile at the red in her eyes. Oh, I've pissed her off now! Raven, the unruffled, composed, Ice Queen has been knocked off her high horse by me. I don't even regret it when she rolls up from the ground in a single, fluid movement like how the clownfish twisted and knocks me off of her. I grin up at her, at the red in her eyes.

Then I pass out. For good, this time.


	5. Day Four or Opaque

_Helloooo, faithful readers. Here's the final chapter of Neon! Yes, I know it's short, but I don't care; I'm a bit too jazzed about actually finishing a story for once. Thanks to all of you, and I must apologize for not responding to most of your reviews. I've been a tad busy, as you may have inferred from my irregular update schedule. _

**Day Four**

**(or)**

**Opaque**

I wake up on the floor between the beds. Raven's sitting on the bed above me, her legs crossed professionally and her back straight, as usual. She manages to acknowledge my newly gained consciousness with a haughty glance down the slope of her nose and a discreetly snooty sniff. I groan, feeling worse than I should after having spent the night on a tacky hotelroom floor. Or maybe…maybe this feeling of being ran over by a steamroller stems from the fact that the last thing I ate were those fries. That was two days ago. Maybe that's why my head hurts so badly when I sit up.

Raven slides off the bed and helps lift me up. I stagger, wincing at the pain in my head and the tightness in my stomach. She, of course, notices. "There's a continental breakfast here; I'll get you down there, and you had better eat something." She says, walking me to the door. I nod clumsily. At the last moment before she opens the door, she snaps the cuffs on my ankles, my hands, my neck. I groan and slump, but she elbows me in the side to keep me upright. It's a warning for me.

We go down the halls, past the place where the lady was last night. There aren't any stains left, no sign that she was ever there. Stuff like that makes me think, you know? Like, how many horrible things happen around us, and the authorities get it cleaned up before we see, so we don't see it, and we never know? It makes me feel really strange, makes me get pretty weird sometimes. I open my mouth to tell this to Raven as we pass the lady's scene, but she shakes her head before I can talk. She knows that I was about to spew something out; she doesn't want to talk. After that little crazy-time romp last night, I can imagine why, I guess. She doesn't strike me as the kind of person who does that sort of stuff. Comforts people, I mean.

In the lobby, true to her words, there is a continental breakfast. Raisin bread, yogurt, bagels, almost untouched. It must be pretty early. I glance out the window and see the sky is gray. I shiver and sit down.

Raven plops a bagel and a cup of orange juice in front of me and clicks my handcuffs off. "Eat." She instructs, then gets up to find something for herself.

I stare at the bagel and orange juice tiredly. It's my last day. We'll be at the prison before it gets dark, I bet. I should skip this, and try really hard to pass out so they have to take me to a hospital. But the thing is, I've gone longer than this before without food, in harsher environments. My brain might want to give up, but my body won't let it happen. I've trained myself too well. If I had skipped the fries, maybe, and if I had kept myself awake the entire trip. I could pass out with that.

I choke down a groan along with the bagel and juice, slowly letting myself realize how utterly screwed I am. I'm really being sent to prison. Not a police station holding cell, not a juvenile detention facility, not a hospital, but a serious prison. If I let them get me past the gates, the guards, the guns, then I won't come out. People like me…huh. We don't come out.

Not a half hour later and we're all bungled back into that stinking van. Buzz Cut's at the wheel, Mullet's grumbling profanity, Rib is chewing on a hangnail, the tattooed guard looks at the ceiling, and the wholly unremarkable guard taps his fingers against his cheek. Raven in her seat, ramrod straight, looking at me. I just feel miserable, or perhaps beyond miserable. I think I've gotten all the way to depressed by now. I mean…I just…God. You know what? I'm done; I've given up. They're broken me and I can't deal with this. Maybe later I'll get back up, but not now.

Nothing happens. Nobody talks. After a while, Mullet switches to the driver's seat. We take a gas and bathroom break. Raven and I stay in the van, and after a couple of minutes of her just staring at me, I curl up with my back against the wall and my head between my knees and give a desperate, dry sob. No tears now, though. Then the others get back, smelling like bland coffee and air freshener.

Soon enough, Mullet starts complaining of the snow. I look out the window: everything is white. The snow is coming down faster and faster, and Mullet's cursing speeds up with it. The guards back here shrug and roll their eyes, mildly annoyed with his foul mouth.

"Fuck's sake, man, for fuck's sake! God or something must fucking hate us or something, man. Fucking snow's everything, can't see a fucking thing. For fu—"

"Shut up! Just shut up." Buzz Cut sits up and shouts. His voice is high and tried, his hand curled on his armrest. "Jesus, would you just shut you mouth? Or at least say something intelligent?"

Mullet grumbles, huffing. "Whatever." He stares adamantly out the window, hands gripping the steering wheel with more force than is necessary. There's nothing to see out there, though. Just a bunch of white.

And that white doesn't matter to me until people start yelling and the van starts jumping all over the road. Things swirl around in front of me until Raven grabs me by the shoulders and falls off of her seat and on top of me, her hand on the back of my head. A moment, something smashes into my head, or, actually the back of her hand, and I can feel her slender little bones splintering. I still feel the impact on my head; it makes my ears ring. Then gravity goes all weird, or maybe it's the van rolling. Raven curls around me like a soft little shield, and I guess that's what makes it weird; that she's soft, I mean. I never expected her to feel this soft, or this vulnerable. I never expected her to whimper either when her hand is slammed again. Maybe she isn't all demon, and maybe she can feel. I cling to her and, I think, once or twice I say that I'm sorry.

We eventually stop moving, even though it's all done in under a minute. Nothing moves, and the passenger side window's broken so Buzz Cut's thin body is being covered in snow. I think I'm the only one conscious until Raven gives a wavering cough. I turn and look at her, her eyes barely open.

"Please," I start, "can you please get these off?" I hold up my cuffs. She doesn't move for a moment, then reaches her good hand forward, sending little pokers of her magic into almost invisible seams in the metal. They clank off, followed shortly by the ones around my neck and ankles.

I take the hand that cushioned my head and hold it. She just lets it dangle at the end of her wrist loosely, doesn't look at it. I slowly start tugging her short leather glove off, the kind that I'd like to steal. She squirms and tries not to groan but fails.

"I know it hurts," I whisper, holding her good hand tightly. Finally, I get the glove off and look at her hand without flinching. It's going to take a long time to heal, and if she doesn't get it looked at soon, it'll totally heal wrong. There're little shards of bone poking at her skin, and one even breaks it, on her palm. Enough for a little red trickle of blood. "Jeez." I say quietly. She says something very quietly, but I don't hear it. I lean in closer and kiss the back of her hand, hoping that it doesn't hurt too much. She doesn't move, so I guess its okay.

I hug her, curl up on her lap, my head on her chest. I can tell she's fading quickly; in a few moments she'll be unconscious. Her eyes are fluttering, her mouth the slightest bit open so I can see the tips of her rounded white teeth. Not fangs, though. I don't know why, but I always imagined she'd have sharp teeth.

"Listen: I'm really sorry about going kinda weird on you last night," I tell her. "That was kinda stupid of me, yeah? Then again, I've always been a little screwloose. I'm still sorry, though, even if I am crazy,"

"It's okay," she breathes. "I shouldn't have done what I did either. We're even,"

I mentally note that she doesn't apologize for what she did. I guess I won't raise that issue now; she'll be incoherent here in a few moments, I bet. Her head's dropping down, her body's relaxing. Before she goes, though, I need her to know something.

"I'll get us all home, okay?" I turn around a little and hold her face in my hands, making sure she looks at me. Her eyes are half-lidded and have trouble focusing on me.

"That's good. In case it actually works, I've gotta say thank you. So thank you, if it does work. And if it doesn't…well…"

Then a funny thing happens. And I'm not sure if it's ha-ha-funny or creepy-funny, but it's definitely funny. With her good hand, she tips my chin up and slurs a kiss across my mouth. The funny thing is that she kissed me, get it? I mean, I've thought about kissing her before, but it was mostly when we were fighting, either to distract her or to make her angrier. I never thought she'd do it first. Or at all.

"Huh. You must've hit your head pretty hard." I acknowledge. She nods blearily, and a few moments later slumps over, breathing steadily and deeply. I stay on her lap for a few moments more, sort of confused about her, sort of liking the warmth of somebody else, sort of wondering what I should do now.

I'm ashamed to say this, but my first reaction is to use the logic I picked up at my house with blue floors: leave them. I can't look out for number one any more, though. They could all die here if I left them. They all probably would, actually. I rock back from Raven, then straighten up and crack my back. Okay. Time to try anything.

I take the boots off of the unremarkable guard and shove my feet in them. They're too big, but they're better than the flimsy little slipper-esque prison shoes I have. I also take Raven's brass-buttoned peacoat and sling it on, feeling like a sailor. But I leave those gloves, even if every thieving instinct tells me to take them. There'll be plenty of time to swipe them later.

Reluctantly, I look to the back door. I'll have to go out there if I have any hope of not dying of hypothermia in a prison transport van. For compensation for not taking the gloves now, and luck (since I definitely need that), I give Raven a brief kiss before pushing out into the snow.

"_Now_ we're even now, hun." I call over my shoulder before closing the doors. Then I trudge up the slight hill to the highway. I can't see any headlights through the snow, and it's even colder than I anticipated out here. I stand out there for a minute or so, hugging myself, the wind playing tug-of-war with my hair. Finally, off in the distance, two pinpricks of light bob into view. When they get closer, I let the hexes fly in an attempt to draw some attention. I haven't worked with them in a long time, over a week, I'd guess. And since those cuffs nullified my powers, there is _a lot_ of excess energy pent up inside me. They turn out a bit more explosive than I had originally planned, but…well, the headlights slow a little, the driver probably curious about the pink lights. I wait until the car rolls up to me, then start waving my hands and yelling at the driver, praying that they'll be my Good Samaritan.

The car stops, and the driver's side window rolls down. "What the hell are you doing out here?" The driver, a man who looks to be in his late twenties, yells.

"I need help. I was in a car and then we flipped. There's six other people over there; please help me get them somewhere safe." I beg. The man hesitates a moment, then rolls up his window and opens his door.

I love it when people don't ask questions. He walks down the slope with me, helps me pry open the back doors. I immediately scoop Raven up into the peacoat, careful of her injured hand. She's shivering.

We get all the guards crammed into the man's car; it's a pretty small car. Mullet takes a while to get up the slope. He's like a baby whale. While lugging Buzz Cut up into the car, I make a discovery: he is actually just a very masculine she. This stops me for a minute, then I shrug. Rib reeks of cigarettes, even with the wind and snow all around us.

It doesn't take long to get everybody into the car. Finally, the man and I get in the front seats. I keep Raven on my lap, away from the five guards smashed into the back, not wanting anything more to happen to her hand.

We drive in silence for a while. "You're taking us to a hospital, or a clinic, or something, right?" I ask the man. He nods slightly. Not much of a talker. He's pale, and seems stressed. Maybe I should be pale and stressed too. That doesn't appeal to me much, though. I curl up in the seat instead, hold Raven a little tighter.

It takes a while, but we do get into a shadowy town. Nobody's out because of the snow. Soon enough, a small building comes into view with a glowing red cross on it. The hospital.

"Stop the car!" I yell.

"What? Why?" The man jumps at my voice.

"I said stop the car!" I yell at him again. He slams on the breaks, terrified. His eyes are wide and he won't stop chewing on his lip.

"What? What's going on?"

I slip out from under Raven, grab the back of the guy's head, and say "hey man, I'm really sorry about this," before smashing his forehead into the steering wheel. That takes him out pretty quick. Just unconscious, though. That's all I need to seem innocent.

I tumble him into the back seat along with the guards, prop Raven up the best I can on the passenger seat, and continue to the hospital, acting like nothing happened. I get to the roundabout in front of the main doors and hop out, rushing into the lobby.

When I get in, the clock on the walls says it's almost one in the morning. Damn. The van tipped around eleven o'clock. That's a lot of time.

"Hey, nurse lady!" I snag a passing woman in white uniform by her wrist. "I got a car full of people who need help. Come on, come one, hurry up."

The nurse, bless her, doesn't ask any questions either. Just calls for backup and hurries out into the snow. She's almost invisible against the white background. The questions come much later, after everybody's on a bed, hooked up to a heart monitor. They're all fine, with Raven's hand being the worst injury. A doctor pulls me aside and asks what exactly happened.

I tell him a tale of how I was driving along when I say the car ahead of me veer off the road. I got out, being a good person, and hauled them all out. The doctor says that I was very brave to do this. I shrug, looking over at Raven all wrapped up in her peacoat, her hand bandaged. I start edging towards the door.

"Hey, I'm not hero." I say, almost bitterly, still looking at Raven. The doctor looks a little puzzled at my tone. "Uh, sir? When she wakes up," I point to Raven, "tell her that I'm really sorry, okay? Tell her I can't help it."

Before he can get too suspicious, I slip out of the room, down the starched white hall, and back to the car. I close the door, turn the engine on, and look through the man's wallet—confiscated by yours truly—while the car warms up.

Well. What now? I got my wish; this whole shitstorm ended in a hospital, but I'm on the outside. I'm free. I can drive all the way back toCalifornianow, and nothing can stop me. I'll drive all day and night, I won't sleep until I cross the border intoJumpCity, until I'm home again.

But before that, I think I'll stop somewhere and get a snack.

Sitting in yet another McDonald's, picking over a stale bun and gray hamburger patty that I bought with the man's wallet, I start to orchestrate my next move. What now? I just got out of certain doom. I feel like I could track down the house with blue floors and burn that crypt to the ground. I could walk up to Titan's Tower and make myself a nice dinner from their fridge, waving at the surveillance cameras while I cook. Man, I could do anything. I mean, I could—actually, yeah, I can do anything.

Behind the wheel once more, I tap my fingers on the wheel, whistling about Cyrus Jones living forever. I make it sound happy. I could make a dirge sound happy right now, in fact. So what do I actually do?

Well, I'd best start with figuring out where my brothers have been shut away. Yeah. I think I'll start there.

_Hope you all enjoyed! _


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